Boromir's Return, Sauron's Revenge
by ChurchGCF
Summary: The shadow of Mordor has now taken its physical form to take his revenge on the men that destroyed his power and his chance of ruling middle earth. Now a fallen warrior will return to attain his true destiny, and save the lives of many in Middle Earth. Di
1. The Return

So this was my first story as The Blue Nunne, and is now redone in this new account. I think my writing has improved a lot more since then, and I did want to both finish and perfect this story. One thing I noticed was how short the chapter was and how little detail it gave. So please review it, and please compare it to the older story. For those who are newer to this my older story was titled "Return Warrior of the South, Shadow in The East" and leave any reviews on how I could improve the next chapters, I like hearing any ideas and constructive critizims. Thanks again.

Of many wonders that lay in Middle Earth the Great River was one of the oldest. It was always there, from the beginning of middle earth to its present day. It flowed with great strength, near the now abandoned area of Lothlorien in Mirkwood where once the elves had dwelt, to the ruins of Amon Hen and on. It had many mouths that exited to the sea. However there was another part to this river that many of elf, dwarf, and man alike forgot.

This smaller river was a part of the Anduin, however it was different then most rivers in Middle Earth. It drew the water from the river and it traveled northwards. Some old tales said that it was bewitched by evil elves that had been cast out for their ways that went against the Elvin ideals. This story however this was only but a mere myth. Still elves did have a part in its story. There in this smaller channel a boat did float upwards. It was of Elvin make from the woods of Lothlorien, and in this craft there laid a man who breathed no more. He was a captain, a brother, warrior, and a hero.

His name was Boromir, a man from the land of Gondor. There he lay in what looked like a deep sleep up the river. His sword that was grasped in his hands washed out of the boat and into the water. Though he himself stayed, up the channel he went to the end where the water flowed into a small lake. Though this lake was like the river, it was unordinary and enchanted for it healed the wounds of one who truly was worthy.

Someone who was worthy of another chance of life.

This was the lake of Numenor, where once the great kings of men had come. Now the souls of those kings came. For they knew of this mans destiny, to face evil once again. However this time to not be tempted by evils illusions and pay the heavy price for desiring these items of power and malice. There the holes in his chest where the arrows from the Uruk-hai had pierced were no more. The blood that had drained from those wounds was replaced by the lakes waters giving him a mix of his family's and blood from kings of the past, allowing him longer life and greater strength for his age, a gift that only the Dunedain had possessed now was granted for him. The soul from where his body had given life entered him once again.

Boromir had returned!

He opened his eyes and took in a giant breath of air. He sat up suddenly as if waking up from a nightmare, although he was unaware of how the surface he sat upon, the boat tipped and the man from Gondor fell into the lake. It was unusual moving his limbs again, as if he was relearning everything a child learned while growing. Still past experiences helped, and he was able to swim to the surface.

"Where am I!" he yelled out, coughing and spurting out water.

He swam to the shore and collapsed onto the nearby beach. His mind filled with questions. Some answers came to him; others were not so simple of an answer.

"From last I could remember I was fighting with the Uruk-hai and I was pierced by the arrows of one of an archer," he said. He then looked over himself but he couldn't find any wounds or even scars to prove of any existence of injury.

"Was it only dreams?" he asked looking around his surroundings; he had no memory of being here before, or of any known roads that he had taken in the past. "No, it was no dream" Somehow as if the wind answered him he now knew, what had happened. He had died, and his last memory of pledging his allegiance to Aragorn son of Arathorn was too real to be a dream, same with all the memories of the fellowship, his training of the two Halflings in the way of the sword, the fall of Gandalf the Grey, Galadriel's ominous warnings, the ring. It had all happened, and now by some miracle of chance or something higher he was here.

'The fellowship,' he thought. 'I must return to help them' He then cursed. Seeing he had lost his sword and shield. His horn had disappeared as well. He stood and turned and there at the borders of the woods and beach was a stone table. It was as tall as a fence yet it did not stretch out like one. There on the table he saw four items. The first to be seen was a familiar blade sheathed in a scabbard.

"My sword," he cried and picked it up and unsheathed it. On the blade were markings that were not there when first crafted, these markings were not of the words of men or dwarves, but elves. Knowing by the vague memories of his studies as a boy, he translated what he could and read

Burial Flame of the North

Looking at the rest of the blade nothing else had changed, still he recognized the hilt and the blade to be his own. So he sheathed it and attached it to his belt. Next the table lay the horn of Gondor he had carried an heirloom past by the steward to their first born child. Many say that if the horn was blown, it would be heard by the people of Gondor and aid would come. Next to the horn was his shield, sturdy as every no orc blade or arrow had yet broken its frame. He again placed it on his back. The fourth object was different. It was a green jewel. He had seen these jewels before, they were known as Burial Stones. These were markers for elves and the borders of their land. They were also used as weapons for when a burial stone is smashed upon a blade it glows into a flame on the sword itself. Being careful not to break or even crack it, he placed it in a pouch on his belt. Seeing nothing else there, the only thing left to do would be to depart to a more civilized location, he needed answers of what had taken place while he lay in death.

"I must find the others," he said. Boromir soon remembered of his last conversation with Aragorn. He had let Frodo go to Mordor alone.

Perhaps he could catch up to the hobbit and aid him, but a fearful feeling welled inside him. His temptation to the ring, it nearly led to his own destruction, and failure to the fellowship's mission. Frodo would be better on his own.

"No," he said, "I must go to Gondor."

And so he looked back one last time at this place that he awoke upon. Not knowing what reason it had for doing so. He had no true idea where to go, as there were no roads he went into the forest, hoping that the path he was taking would lead him back to his home.


	2. Rivendell Answers

So here's chapter 2 of the story, hope you're enjoying it, and again please review, also any constructive critisizm is welcome.

A day and night had already passed and the world went on as it did everyday. No one knew of what had taken place at the secret Numenorian Lake in the past day. He walked on in the darkness, hearing nothing but his own footsteps in the night. Occasionally he would here a howl from a wolf in the dark, but it was too distant to be of any worry. He looked up and saw many stars, but the trees' branches could not allow him to make out any familiar constellations to guide his way. As he walked on he felt much guilt still in his heart. He remembered what he had done and wished that his mind had been stronger. In the past he thought it was that he a man of Gondor, the land of kings and the birthplace of valor in men could not fall to something as small and frivolous as a magic ring.

"I considered myself the better man," he muttered to himself. "I should have known, I should have listened to all those warnings the elves had given to me, I truly am a fool."

What was done was done and he realized that there was no changing the past or his actions, and so he began to consider what lay ahead of him. He was alive again, and that he considered a miracle in it of itself, but why? Could there be some reason of why he had been given this gift, something that may lay ahead in his future?

"What future?" he asked. "I failed both Gondor and the Fellowship, they would not accept me if they knew the intentions I had. Still I must try. I can still help and fight for my people if the war and the fellowship are there in Osgiliath or even Minas Tirith. I am only one man but perhaps I could atone for my past sins."

Where depression was laying heavy in his mind and heart a beacon began to show and hope came, though guilt still remained it could be remedied in time. So he quickened his pace and did not rest or make camp that night. Even though all his camp could consist of was a small fire, for all he had left were the items he found, the clothes and chain mail he wore when setting out from Gondor to Rivendell, and the green elven cloak given as a gift in Lothlorien. Not much to survive on, so he had to look for any means of food the woods could provide him. At this point he felt more like a Ranger than a soldier.

"Faramir was always the ranger," he said remembering his brother. "He would have a whole camp site ready with food and drink, while still being able to stay invisible to the enemy's eyes; I probably stick out like a Mumakil in an open field."

The next morning was bright and warmer for Boromir, although he did feel tired for not sleeping. He finally stopped for a break in a clearing in the woods and found a nearby apple tree. He quickly remembered his hunger and ate about seven of the apples. He packed five more in a separate pouch and moved on again. The woods seemed to stretch out forever; tree after tree the view seemed to be the same. Time passed again and he found his hunger beginning to return again, and so pull out another apple to satisfy this craving.

"I would rather have meat and some ale but these will have to do for now," he said to himself.

He continued his journey on through the woods until he finally saw the edge of the forest. He gave a yell in joy and went out to see of any towns or farms. To his dismay he saw none. It was grassland far as the eye could see. However beyond the horizon ahead was something new that caught his gaze.

"Mountains," he groaned. "I'll have to get over them for I don't see anyway around."

So he started. It wasn't until that night he had reached the valley of rock for where the climb began so he rested that night. Not even realizing he had survived the forest of Mirkwood. He woke early and began his climb. The mountain he chose was not too high yet still remained a great climb upward. He took a break on a cliff before he started again. While resting his mind began its own wandering, of Gondor, the Fellowship, his brother. On and on he climbed when he finally found the pass to the other side. He gaped at what he saw. To his left a great waterfall roared down into deep ravine. Looking on he strained his vision harder past the mist and fog making out a tower, if what he saw was true then someone had to have built it, meaning people were here. With newfound strength he climbed down, in his hurried pace he almost lost his grip several times. Eventually he found the bottom and he saw he was in the very place the fellowship had been forged.

"Rivendell," he said. "Now I can finally find news of the events."

However he looked in the city and found no one. He yelled out, the only return he got was his own echo in the mountain air.

"Where is everyone?" he asked. "Elrond, and all the elves are gone? I heard rumors they were departing these lands, but I did not know they would all be gone so soon."

Through the still silence he heard no one answer him, so he gave up his calls. Instead of getting any answers, he was left with nothing but questions. So he made a fire and started to look for any means of food, as his supply of fruit was finally exhausted. The only thing left was a piece of Lembas, the elvish way bread. It was stale, but it satisfied his hunger better than the apples.

'So much has changed here when last I saw this place,' he thought to himself, taking in his surroundings. 'The golden light of the sun that once bathed this outpost in a warm and comforting glow, now the sky remains grey as the clouds block out the sun, and the air feels dull and cold here.'

Indeed many things had changed in this once peaceful and beautiful land, now barren of elves that left to the Havens of the West. Though Rivendell was a haven still, it did not give off much welcome. There was no warmth or comfort that could be found here now. In his thoughts exhaustion finally caught up with him, he laid his head back and finally found sleep.

The night was blacker than any he had seen, as an even darker massive shadow came marching through the canyon, an army of Uruk-Hai bred to fight, and armed for war, all of them snarling and roaring war cries. On the other side of this valley, a lone stone castle stood against a mountain looking out to the same army he had surveyed. It was smaller than Minas Tirith, but stood tall and strong none the less. On the walls he saw men and elves. Grim looks were on many of the men's faces, most of them looking more like peasants, farmers and stable boys rather than soldiers. Some whose hands shook as they held their bows, either from fear of battle and death, others from seeing to many years of work.

The rain pored down from the skies. Boromir saw his companions, Aragorn shouting commands to both the elves and men alike as they fired volleys of arrows at the massive swarm laying at the front of the wall. Legolas firing his arrows like no other archer he had ever seen, and then taking out his short curved blades for close encounters. Gimili was on top of the walls knocking down and chopping the Uruk-Hai with his mighty axe yelling out loud

"Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty!!!" he cried

Boromir gave a small laugh at the sight of his comrade in arms, seeing the dwarf proving his skills as a warrior. Soon though his face was serious again from what he saw next. The men were falling back again until they had retreated into the very keep itself. The gates were broken in, and the Uruks began to fill the castle halls until they reached the last gate of the keep. Boromir stood looking at what was the loss of the battle and the now fate of his friends and companions. He saw the Uruks battering at the door, but was surprised that none of them attacked him, or even gave any signs of at least noticing this man. His thoughts were interrupted though as he saw the most desperate and brave charge, a final attack with Aragorn, a man clad in a royal like armor who Boromir guessed was the king of these people and Legolas riding out into the enemy. Swinging their swords at every enemy they passed, as the horses knocked and galloped the unlucky who tried to stand before these men.

"What battle is this?" he asked as he looked on not knowing what to do, he was but one man and there were at least 10,000 Uruk-Hai down there. Yet he still saw Aragorn and these riders carrying on into the great army, and surely to their deaths.

The sun finally shown over the hill where Boromir found himself now standing, he heard a cry from a horse to his left and saw a face he did not expect to see in this battle. There on the white horse sat Gandalf who when last he saw fell into the shadows of Moria with the Balrog, yet here he was. No longer was he clad in gray in both his cloak, hair and, beard but white. Within his hand he held his staff that no longer looked like it was a branch from a tree but a white poll with a decorative top in the shape of a diamond. Though the light of the sun was bright, the light the wizard gave off was far brighter.

"Mithrandir?"

The wizard finally spoke

"Theoden King now stands alone," he said.

Boromir saw standing behind him a new army of men with horses and weapons and shields to bear. Boromir turned back to Gandalf who he saw smile back at him with a glint in his eye. The great army charged at the soldiers of Isengard, and none were shown mercy. The kingdom of that he now knew to be Rohan won, yet a question remained.

"Where am I now?"

"You are in Rivendell, and it is the 21st of October if you must know."

Boromir could not see Rivendell, only the darkness. When he turned around a light shown, again coming from the wizard who stood with the same smile on his face.

"The battle I saw did it happen while I was…" he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Yes Boromir, the battle of Helms Deep did occur while you were gone," his voice comforting his companion. "And it was but a taste of the true strength and courage that men have shown in the past, which in time you must have in your journey."

"My journey Gandalf?" shaking his head he asked. "I don't understand, what do you mean?"

"I unfortunately have little time left Gondorian, but I can offer this advice," his voice started fading. "Travel west to Bree, you may get a horse there that can get you to Minas Tirith, and to the west of Bree lays the shire of the Halflings!"

He was gone.

Boromir woke up to find himself back in the gray lands of Rivendell. It was morning he guessed, though it neither looked nor felt any different than the previous day.

"This land may not be comforting as it was before, but I at least know where I'm bound to."

With that he prepared to head out again.


End file.
